


Norman's diary

by Just_Maxence



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: French, I'm sorry for that, M/M, Norman is a rookie, Sad Ending, maybe a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Maxence/pseuds/Just_Maxence
Summary: It was a kid. He became a soldier.But above all, he is a writer.What was behind this mysterious diary, which his owner seemed ready to protect at all costs?





	1. February 1945 - Good kisses of a minefield

 

Today was my first day in German territory. It took us nearly a week in a liner, countering seasickness and boredom, but now our duty begins.

I was very impressed to see all these huge boats when we landed in the port, waiting to be sent to the military base. It was only once at camp that I realized everything. It's was for real. For months that we trained in America in anticipation of the big day. Honestly, I never really understood why we had to follow this training. How can I use a machine gun to serve me? I am only a typist. We are safe here. That's what the sergeants told us.

We are ten typists. Although none of us are very old, I quickly realized that I was the youngest. Everyone looked at me from ticket when we crossed the base to our tent. It's like they know I would not be supposed to be here. As if they knew that deep down, I was maybe a liar. I don't care. I feel good here. I feel like a man.

Only hours after our arrival, we were put behind jaw-dropping offices and dictated orders. I had to write dozens of condolence letters today, but strangely, I'm not even exhausted. Maybe the feverishness of the arrival prevents me from feeling tired.

At sunset, we went back to our dormitories. It stinks of sweat and cigarette in there. Our rations have already decreased a lot since the United States. Okay, I have not vowed to expect anything, but I must admit that it makes a little shock. Hardly a blanket on our hard mattresses, cold coffee and violent people ...

Strange, but I am now uncertain of wanting to know what the future holds for me.


	2. February 1945 - Fraternity and lack of coffee

 

Two weeks.

Only two weeks, and my enthusiasm on this adventure just took a hit.  The temperatures are cold and our coats are useless to isolate us.  Sitting more than eight hours a day doesn't help either, aches already begin to show.  We eat little, rarely wash and most people shout at us all day long.  Basically, I understand them.  The conditions are starting to get on everyone's nerves.

And yet, despite all the discomfort of the base, I do not miss the house.  On the contrary.  In a way, I feel liberated here.  Protected from my past by this endless ocean.

Hey dad, now you're alone there.  There is no one to pour out your anger on, more than furniture on which to release your usual torrents of violence.  I know you don't care.  I know you're probably happy with your peace.  You made your wife suffer, you made me suffer, but you, when will your turn come?

Here at least, I met good people.  They are called Abraham and Russell, are two roommates of dormitories.  One is New Yorker, the other is from Illinois.  They are alive and nice, barred like ice cabinets but surprisingly brilliant.  I was intrigued that they were not at the front, all strong that they are.  I asked them the question during our third evening at the camp.  None of them wanted to answer.  I do not know why, but it seems to me that we are all here for the same reasons.  None of us three wants to kill, but none of us could endure their old life one more day.

The one watching us our dorm, Sergeant Hammilton, is also a good guy.  He gave me this book.  I do not know why.  I do not know what he does besides doing the discipline to my roommates, but I guess he must be rather respected.

Hey, Russell brought coffee.  Let's hope there will be more than a cold bottom from yesterday for me.


	3. March 1945 - Welcome in Hell, just hope for Heaven

 

I'm still shocked. It happened so fast.  
The base was bombed this morning. Nobody can tell if it was a Nazi attack or a miscommunication, but one thing is certain, we could not afford the losses of today.

The morning however began normally. To be dictated by angry officers, write letters of condolence for soldiers that everyone will have forgotten tomorrow. And then, a slight whistle filled the usual hubbub. The soldiers and the sergeants quickly understood what was happening, but we weren't aware of it.  
There were five typists today, but none had a lot of experience. We did'nt even have time to question that the first shell hit the ground.

Three of us died. I don't know how I managed to get out of it almost unhurt, except for a cut in my left arm. Abraham didn't have that chance. A burst hit him in the head. It barely remained half of his face.  
I may not have cried, but it felt like a knife in my heart. I did not know much about this big guy, but I knew he was good.

His absence was like a void here. Everyone loved this man. During our evening ration, some guys burned the pictures of the three dead today.  
It was my first military funeral.

I don't want to have to live others.


	4. March 1945 - In the shoes of a criminal

 

The more weeks pass, the more I feel like an imposter. I have the impression that others have the same feeling. Their eyes don't seem to me the same. What if they had guessed I was a liar?

So yes, this statement is true. Yes, I lied about my age. Yes, I lied about the reason for my commitment.

 

I hide more and more, and they noticed it. By wanting to look normal, I only seem more suspicious. Before I agreed to spend the evening with the others, now all I want when I leave the tent is to bury myself under my blankets where no look can reach me. Russell asked me a lot since we met. At first, I naively answered his questions, careless of the consequences that my answers might have on my future. Now ... we do not talk much anymore. The usual simple sentences in the dormitories and the professional dialogs sitting in front of our typists, and that's all. No one else is talking to me except that.

 

 

I switched to solitary mode now. It's not so bad. I am used to it.


	5. March 1945 - Alone

 

I'm tired. Tired of the silence. Tired the cold. Tired of the depressing work.

I may have survived physically well, but I feel inside. Always the same routine, always the same ticket looks. The sergeants screaming, the soldiers fighting. The chaos that I found electrifying the first days exasperates me to the highest point now. With the death of Abraham, nothing is better. Everything is cold, everything is dreary. I have enough. I just want to leave this place, by any possible ways.

Yesterday, a column of tanks passed our base. I must admit that I 'm a little jealous. These guys have no schedule, no routine. They are not afraid of being hit by a stray bullet, so well protected by the armor of their war machine. How to fear the outside world with such protection?

 

I wonder even if these men _know_ the fear ...


	6. April 1945 - Landscape change

 

We moved. My company was deported to the heart of Germany, closer to Berlin to monitor the advance of our troops. Even if only a few hours separate us from the old base, the atmosphere is so different that it's like being in another country. Here, the atmosphere is in combat. No more lines of rest, some sunsets on the harbor. These lands were ravaged by war, it shows at first glance. Slaughtered fields and burnt down villages are our everyday landscape now. The Germans are on their last breath. We went on the offensive. Soon we will take Berlin, and we will win this conflict.

 

Sorry, _they_. Me, I'm still maltreating a typewriter.

 

Hmm. Heroic.


	7. April 1945 - FURY, or the mistake of the century

 

I still have trouble understanding what happened.

This morning, going to the tent, I found my place filled. Who could have taken my place? I had not been informed. A corporal then intercepted me.

-Soldat Norman Ellison?

I did not know what to say to that, but I nodded.

-Transfer to the camp of the fifth corps. Your transport leaves in six minutes, hurry up.

I remember mumbling a few confused words, but I don't know what. As I crossed the shelter in the opposite direction, I felt the dozens of looks on me. The horrible feeling that something was happening to me suddenly caught me, and the stress began to rise in me. Did they know something I did not know? What am I embarking on?

Packing my luggage was fast. A few dirty clothes, my books dragging on my seat ... not even a bottle of alcohol or a pack of cigarettes. Oh God, the number of times my old companions had tried to make me drink ... I never understood the interest.

As I was going out, Russell gave me a dark, almost deathlike look as I crossed his face. Without a word, I stole a sprint and jumped on the truck packed without thinking.

It took me several minutes to realize what was wrong. The benches were packed with soldiers. The vehicle left the camp, heading for the fields.

It was not a transport of typists. These men were going to the front.

I panicked. I did not want to go to battle, I had nothing, no weapon, no experience ... While I was ready to throw truck in motion to save my skin (which would probably have ended in a misshapen galette on the gravel), he entered another military camp. Good news, I did not see any battlefield. That said, it didn't prevent the heaviness of the air. The smell of death soon became ubiquitous.

We got off the vehicle. A sergeant with a notepad stopped me and pointed to a man coming out of a pile of crates. Really, it wasn't a camp for writers. Nevertheless, taking on me, I ran to meet this man.

The muddy ground was sinking beneath my feet, and my oversized boots did not help. The closer I got to my new boss, the more I wanted to run away.

-... First Sergeant Collier? I asked.

The look he gave me at the moment hit a ten on the lethal scale. He answered me, luckily I didn't make a mistake, but his tone of voice was terribly rude.

Then he told me that I was going to serve in a tank. My brain has literally stopped working. There must have been a mistake ... I have the vague impression that Collier thought exactly the same thing. I then met the crew. My God. Between a drunken Hispanic, a Christian Nazi killer to the bone and a rowdy mechanic, I do not know which one disappointed me the most.

 

I really, really have no idea how fate could make such a joke.


	8. April 1945 - Trauma

 

I killed. For the first time in my life. I never want to have to do that again.

I hate fate, I hate men, but more than anything, I hate Sergeant Collier.  
How can one have such a cold heart? How can someone kill an innocent person with so few emotions? Did he not hear, did he not listen to this poor soldier when he begged him to let his life be saved? Monster species.  
And all those soldiers who watched us while he was forcing me to fire, none of them advocated this injustice. Not one.

I will never understand these people. They murder with the ease of a simple task. It is as if, by simple difference of ethnicity, some people were not worth considering as human. The United States has a monopoly on almost everything, I know it, but sometimes I wonder what other nations think of us. Unlike many people, I'm not proud to be an American. When I see the horrors that our people have committed and continue to commit, I can not see in them any form of bravery. Just that terrible taste for violence that, one day or another, always ends up getting us to the brain.

I know that by staying here, this taste will eventually reach me too. Unfortunately, I can only dread this moment when I will finally give in to his call.


	9. April 1945 - Some precisions

 

We are rolling. Since one hour or more, who cares. Definitely, there's nothing less distracting than German landscapes. At least for those I saw. Fields, trees, clouds, and then other fields, other trees and more clouds.  
Absolutely splendid.

The cavalry in which we are counts four tanks: "Lucie Sue", "Old Phyllis", "Murder Inc." and "Fury". We are leading the convoy, which probably means that we are the main targets of anti-tank shells in case of attack.

Inside, if the tank isn't rolling, it's completely silent. There are five of us, including at least two big mouths.  
Our pilot is nicknamed Gordo. I have no idea of his real name. Visibly from hyspanic origins, he is a man well enough wrapped and relatively bon vivant. On the other hand, I must admit that I have never known him sober, not even when he drives.

Boyd, or Bible, is our shooter. Believe me, this nice mustached guy deserves his nickname. He is a true gentleman, patient and wise, yet able to kill anyone without flinching. Though I'm pretty pagan, I like this guy.

Grady, call him Coon-Ass ... I will not dwell much on him. Noisy, vulgar and heart of stone, here is the best portrait that I could draw of him. He mainly deals with loading shells into the main barrel.

For my part, I don't have a nickname yet. It does not bother me too much, although I do not feel totally in my place in this tank yet.

Oh, we stopped.


	10. April 1945 - Losing an angel

 

I failed to write these days, simply because I didn't have the strength. My cruel fate has taught me a hard lesson, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to get out of it.

Her name was Emma. She was young, beautiful, and I am sure, full of wisdom. We had met when Wardaddy pulled her out of bed under which she was hiding, paralyzed with fear. I think I did not improve her condition by grabbing her cousin arm-in-the-body ... When we landed in their apartment, I had no idea what Don was going to do. I was afraid he would kill them in cold blood or worse, he would not rape them. But he did not do anything of it. He just asked for a bowl of hot water.

Once the tension subsided, everyone started acting more naturally. I had rarely seen the Sergeant so peaceful, even though he almost always deals with the same impassive air on a daily basis.

The surprise I had in finding a piano in perfect condition in the middle of this war zone, we can say that it was a happy gift. After searching the partition pile, I realized that I did not know any of them. So I took the easiest way to warm myself up a bit. The look of astonishment in Wardaddy's eyes was enough to restore my self-confidence. That's when Emma joined me, and started singing with me. His voice was that of an angel, clear and sweet. She smiled at me, I answered her.

What happened behind these doors will never be explained in words. We kissed, we loved each other. I will always remember that moment. Not just having slept for the first time, but having experienced the love and passion of a person like I had never experienced.

When the city was bombed, I didn't have time to analyze everything. It was only after, when the silence subsided, that I looked up at the ruined building in front of me. That's when I understood. Understood that it was over, that we would not share the future.

I just couldn't help running up to his smashed corpse. Despite the bricks that had pierced everywhere, his face still the same. Even today the pain tears my heart every time I remember her face. I don't want to sleep, each of my nightmares are crossed by images of her broken body. Her voice haunts me, she burns my eardrums every minute of silence.

I think I'm already starting to lose my mind.


	11. Aprils 1945 - A spark of complicity

I spoke with Boyd today. Well, I have rather listened moral over moral, all the embellish with a sentence of the Bible from time to time. It wasn't me who asked to speak, far from it; my only wish at this moment would be to be able to disappear away from the eyes of others. I can't stand this constant hubbub. Sometimes I look at my mates and wonder how they survived 3 years without killing each other. Personally, I'm already on the verge of hitting one with a pack of ammo. That said, once I asked Don how he was doing to tolerate living with the same men for so long. The question made him smile slightly and he just waved his pack of cigarettes. The comment pulled me a laugh, and at this moment, I finally felt an accomplice with this man who was terrorizing me a few days earlier.

For some time now, I have started to have more interest for him. His motives and his behavior intrigue me more than they frighten me now. He hypnotizes me in an impossible way. Everyday, I discover a new facet of his personality. I wonder if I will see the end of it one day.

In the meantime, just getting my favors is a plan that stirs a new interest in me.


End file.
